Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Interactive Blogging

OK...so, I've been thinking of an idea for a little bit of interaction between me, your witty, strikingly handsome & oh so terribly modest host & you, my dear Loyal Readers (who I'm sure are witty, striking & modest - just not as much as me). What follows is a part of a story. From this story, you who have sites (& of course, those of you who choose to participate) will continue the story, leaving a link to your contribution in the comments section of the site that you're continuing from & a link back in your post to MLCotW (or whatever site you might have found the previous story fragment at). Those who don't have sites can join in on the fun by sending your story fragment to me. Oh, &...

We're going to be writing it backwards. Meaning, I'm going to kick this thing off from the end of the story & you will be adding the paragraph/section/chapter before it. And anyone who links to your site will be contributing the part previous to that.

Have I thoroughly confused you yet? Good. All I ask, as far as any kind of rules go, is that we maintain a fair modecum of class with this venture. I realize that you can write whatever you want on your individual sites, but we're not writing a Harlequin Romance novel here. And, I'll try to put all of the various strings together in a post here (with kudos applied where due), but, this being my site, I will reserve the right to edit as I see fit anything that will be written here. If you're not sure, ask yourself "What Would Jay Do?".

Any questions? Good.

Off we go...

Jason woke the next morning - or maybe it was the afternoon. It could've been next week, for all he knew. He was sure of one thing, though - he felt like he'd just gone twelve rounds with a rabid Mike Tyson & lost. Badly.

He tried getting up out of bed, but found that his feet were tangled up in the sheets. He rolled out of the bed, hitting the hard, unforgiving wooden floor with a thud. After he freed his feet from their binding, he groped around the clothing scattered across the floor. He found his favorite shirt, the bright yellow one bearing the likeness of a chupacabra with the words "Chupa This!" emblazoned in red, three inch high letters across the chest. Why (or where) he purchased this fashion mistake, he couldn't remember. Even stranger than the fact that he owned such an atrocity was the fact that, even though he "knew" this was his favorite shirt, he was sure he'd never seen it before.

Making his way into the kitchen for a bowl of cereal, he stopped to pet the dog. The friendly little beagle wagged her tail, obviously anticipating a full bowl herself. It occured to him, while tending to the dog, that he couldn't remember ever actually owning a dog. He knew this dog - recognized it as "his." But, he could swear that he'd never seen the dog before this morning.

Puzzled by these weird, deja vu-ish feelings, he went to the cabinet to get a cup. "Maybe a bit of caffiene is all I need," he thought. Opening the cabinet, he instinctively reached for a cup shaped like a cow. Black & white, four legs, its tail curved into a handle, even an udder on the bottom of it. It showed signs of many years of use - chips along the rim, paint worn off. He examined the cup, "knowing" that this was his favorite cup, but couldn't recall seeing it before then.

"Lousy short-term memory...," he mumbled. "I've gotta start writing stuff down."

Seeing the notepad on the dining table, he started flipping through the pages.

"Seems I've been pretty busy lately."